Let It Burn (A BBW Paranormal Erotic Romance) Read online

  He pumped into her, and his groans of pleasure echoed hers. They ceased to be Joanna and Kevin, they were two bodies doing a frenzied dance, trying to crawl inside each other with every movement. Then they were one, one heart, one soul. She glowed in his arms, and it was as if he could feel every emotion she’d ever had. The fear when her mom didn’t come home for her. The loneliness and confusion when the kids her age made fun of her, when no family wanted to even foster her, let alone adopt her. The euphoric joy at discovering her art. The bitter disappointment of her first lover. The tremulous happiness found in his arms.

  Was this what she felt every day? It was agony. It was fucking ecstasy. It was the deepest fucking intimacy he’d ever felt. It was as if he knew her clear down to her soul, and her soul was so fucking beautiful. And she was feeling him just as deeply.

  Fuck. “Fuck, baby, I want you to come for me.” He needed her to come. He couldn’t hold out more than a couple thrusts more, and he needed her to burn all over him first. She moaned, cried out, and he felt her whole body go taut. He ground his hand once more over her clit and she exploded, screaming harshly as her pussy contracted strongly on his dick.

  The hand holding her upper body to his slid up, a ghost touch over her neck before his palm wrapped around her jaw. She bit down, sinking sharp teeth into the tough skin, and his balls drew painfully tight. But it was the scalding heat of her tears dripping down the back of his hand that lit his own orgasm.

  He arched hard into her, nearly bucking her off his body, and shouted his own climax as she wrung every drop of cum from his convulsing balls.

  She collapsed forward, and he followed her, having just enough sanity left to shift to the side so he didn’t crush her against the hard-wood floor.

  They were both panting, their breath coming in shallow gulps. Kevin wanted to say something, give her pretty words, but the elemental, carnal flame between them had scoured away every thought but one fundamental truth. The truth was that Kevin Krysenski had fallen in love with Joanna Balentine

  *

  Jo sat cross-legged on the floor, focused intently on the large canvas propped up in front of her. Her white t-shirt was streaked with yellows of every hue as the brush moved with a will of its own in her hand. The stereo pounded, blasting the music of Hinder, an aching song for a woman who deserved much better than the singer. The song reminded her of Kevin, his lingering guilt and grief for his father and sister. His lingering fear that he’d somehow let her down, too.

  She was chipping away at that, though. He’d spent his entire three days off with her, making love, sleeping, eating and making love some more. They’d both needed the rest and recovery time. He’d pressed a tender, wondering kiss to her lips before he’d left for the station this morning. She burst into surprised laughter when she’d finally stumbled into the bathroom and found he’d left her a note on the mirror promising to be back at the end of his forty-eight hour shift with pizza, beer and a really… big… sausage.

  She’d stepped out of the shower filled with inspiration. The wonderful man had started a fresh pot of coffee before leaving, and she’d grabbed a mug of liquid bliss and headed down to her studio, practically rubbing her hands together in glee at the thought of getting to work. She’d intended to work on the mural, but a stack of fresh stacked canvases had distracted her.

  She spent the morning sketching, recreating the sharp angles and rounded muscles of Kevin’s body. Loving him on canvas. Another cup of coffee and an apple later she began to bring him to life.

  Now she had been painting for seven hours straight, stopping only to stretch before returning back to the canvas. She painted Kevin as she saw him, a strong yet vulnerable man. His half smile and smoldering eyes looked back at her, warming all the parts of her body that the man did.

  She painted from memory, the warm bronze tones of his skin, and the ripples beneath his velvety skin. He was sitting back in a chair, a lazy smile on his face, one leg thrown over the arm of the winged back leather. She painted him in a pair of faded denims with a hole in the knee. The fly was undone and she stroked in the light dusting of hair from his navel down to the where the denim covered him with exquisite detail.

  She painted him with love. Laughing to herself she let the thought tumble over and over in her mind. She loved this man for better or worse, and it was a beautiful thing. Kevin touched her with magic hands; he understood her, accepted her and the passion hidden in his soul had brought Jo to her knees.

  Jo dropped her brush in a small jar of turpentine when her stomach grumbled loudly. She looked around herself, startled at the long passage of time, but not really surprised. She often lost herself in her art; especially when she was so inspired by her subject.

  She had just turned down the stereo and headed for the stairs to her loft when she was surprised by a knocking at her door. Damn, she was really losing her edge. Just a few days ago she would have known she had company long before they actually made it to her door.

  When she opened the door she was surprised to find Chief Caldwell there.

  “Good afternoon, Joanna.” The older man gave her a friendly smile, but he looked tired. And he felt distraught.

  “Chief Caldwell,” she stepped back and gestured him in. “Kevin’s at the station.” She laughed a little self-consciously. She had no reason to expect the Chief to come looking for Kevin with her, but he really couldn’t imagine why else the man would arrive at her door.

  “Yes, I know. He’s on duty for another thirty-six. I actually wanted to talk with you about the fires.” He heaved a sigh, casting his eyes absently around her studio. “You’ve got quite a work space set up here,” he commented. “Care to give an old man a tour?”

  Jo smiled, though her uneasiness in his presence was growing.

  “Oh, you’re hardly an old man,” she poked him lightly in the arm. “I’d say you’re just in your prime. And of course I’ll show you around.” She led him quickly through the work stations she had set up, pointing out where she did her gridding, and where she mixed custom pigments for her larger projects.

  He paused, drawing her to a stop when they reached the portrait of Kevin.

  “You really care for the boy, don’t you?” Surprise and something that felt like sadness swirled around him as he spoke.

  “I do,” she agreed.

  “Does he feel the same? Or is it too soon to know?”

  She frowned a bit at the rather intrusive question, but reminded herself that Butch Caldwell had been a mentor and father figure to Kevin for years, and probably felt perfectly justified in sussing out her intentions.

  “I hope he does.” She smiled a bit and corrected herself. “I know he does.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he finally said.

  “I know. It’s the best work I’ve ever done.” She spoke without pride, filled with a calm, quiet certainty.

  That odd sense of sadness returned, redoubled. Thinking to distract him, Jo led him to the storyboard for the mural.

  “I thought you’d have to give up on this commission,” he said in surprise. “You’ve lost so much in the way of supplies.”

  “Thousands of dollars worth of supplies,” she agreed. “The finished pieces were the greater loss, though. Those can’t be replaced.” She sighed, resigned to the loss. “But I was lucky, as far as the mural goes. Everything I need to work on it I keep here.”

  Caldwell turned his attention to the storyboard, his eyes widening as he took in the detail in the drawing. Her uneasiness turned to cold, clammy discomfort, though she couldn’t have said why. She had no reason to be afraid of the man…

  “Kevin said you told him that both fires were arson.” He turned a piercing look on her, and Jo felt her insides begin to quiver. “And the arsonist was there the night your storage unit went up.”

  “Yes,” she agreed slowly. “Whoever set the fire was there.” You were there! The thought popped into her head, and Jo abruptly couldn’t deny what her senses had been trying to tell her
all along. Chief Caldwell was the arsonist.

  She’d never been good at hiding her reactions, one of the reasons for her reputation for being odd, and this was no exception. By the time she got her expression under control and feeling of sick rage filled the room and Chief Caldwell’s face had transformed from tired to maliciously regretful.

  “It’s such a waste,” he murmured stepping toward her.

  Jo whirled and dashed for the stairs, thinking to lock him out of her loft and call for help. But the Fire Chief was, indeed, in his prime and was amazingly fit. He caught her easily, then continued up the stairs, dragging her along behind him now.

  “You realize this all could have been avoided if you’d only given up that damned mural,” he said conversationally. “I’m really sorry it had to come to this. Kevin will be devastated, of course.”

  Confusion battled with fear and anger. What did Chief Caldwell have against the mural? What possible problem could the man have with a memorial to the lives lost in a fire that had happened when he was just a child…

  Jo remembered the look on his face as he’d taken in the details of her sketch. The boy. The cigarette. Realization dawned.

  “You…you…”

  “It’s not so much my reputation, you see,” Caldwell explained. The calm, friendly tone of his voice was directly at odds with the sick anger rolling off him. “But I can’t let you ruin my father’s legacy. He covered it up for me, you realize.” He’d pulled her, protesting, up the narrow staircase and into the living room.

  “I’m really sorry, dear,” he said, looking straight into her eyes. Then his arm cocked back and the world exploded in black and silver stars.

  ****

  She wasn’t sure how long she was out. It couldn’t have been more than a few moments, but already the smoke was filling the room. Jo crawled across the floor, head pounding and lungs burning, and grabbed the phone. After two fumbling tries she managed to dial nine-one-one.

  She knew she must sound like a lunatic as she gave her address, and babbled out that the Fire Chief had set her building on fire. The operator spoke soothingly, urging her to get out of the building, and Jo let the phone fall unheeded to the floor as she reached the door.

  She grabbed the knob, hissing as the hot metal seared her palms. She’d seen Backdraft. She knew it wasn’t safe to open a door that was this hot. She didn’t see what choice she had, though. She was on the second floor, and the windows were covered by beautiful black wrought iron even if it hadn’t been too high to jump. The scalding knob turned easily enough, but the door wouldn’t budge. It felt as if something was wedged against it, preventing it from swinging outward.

  She collapsed to the floor, staying as close to the ground as possible. Dimly she could hear the operator calling for her, but she was coughing to hard to answer. She crawled toward the bathroom with some vague idea of running the shower and trying to keep from burning. She wasn’t making sense, she realized. Didn’t know where the fire was even located, but smoke was filling the room, making her dizzy and confused and sick.

  Kevin, she thought as her vision began to blur. God, don’t let him blame himself for this. That was her last thought before the smoke made the world go black.

  *****

  Kevin was off the truck before it had stopped rolling, ignoring Travis’ rough shout and diving into Joanna’s studio. It was like plunging into a nightmare.

  It was just past sunset, and the room should have been dark and quiet, but it was not. Instead sick red shadows undulated over the walls and malevolent specters made up of black smoke danced through the open space.

  The fire monster roared, drowning out every other sound except the screaming in his head, the wracking coughs of Kimmy and his father. He’d entered the building without his breathing apparatus, without any backup.

  Fool. Fucking fool. Kimmy wasn’t here, or his father; but JoJo was, and he wouldn’t let her down. Even though in his panic he’d crippled himself.

  He dropped low and began the torturous crawl up the stairs. The entire first floor was lit with demonic flames as her paints and canvases eagerly embraced the blaze. Poor Jo. Still more losses. He thought, somewhat incoherently, that now she would have to give up the Fire mural, like the Chief kept suggesting. He imagined that if he got her out of here she’d never want to see another flame again – even one she’d painted herself.

  He reached the landing outside the door and froze for a moment in blank shock as he saw the board wedged against the door.

  “Joanna!” He didn’t recognize his own voice as he began kicking at the board, slamming his booted foot into it until his leg burned with the effort, until the board splintered and fell loose.

  He could hear her coughing from inside, the painful retching barely discernable above the roar of the fire. He ducked low, drew a breath of smoke-congested air, and lunged into the apartment. Ragged strips of smoke drifted in the air like gauzy draperies. He followed the sound of Jo’s weakening coughing to the bathroom, where he found her crumpled on the floor by the tub.

  “Aw, baby,” he rasped, gathering her in one arm and reaching out with his free hand to grab a towel. He quickly doused the cloth in the tub, squeezed out the excess water, and wrapped it over her nose and mouth, creating a primitive smoke mask.

  Her coughing quieted, but he didn’t kid himself that she was okay. Her breath was quick and shallow, her face stark and pale. She didn’t regain consciousness even as he hoisted her into a fireman’s carry and began to rush through the smoky apartment.

  He was so intent on their escape that he nearly plowed into the man standing in her doorway like a giant yellow-coated alien.

  Chief Caldwell, just like on that nightmare night, rushing to Kevin’s rescue. The Chief was wearing his breathing apparatus, and Kevin paused, expecting the man to offer him a hit of much needed oxygen so that they could get the fuck out before the monster got restless.

  Instead the Chief gestured for Kevin to hand over Joanna.

  “I’ve got her,” he rasped out, coughing, strangely reluctant to let his mentor even touch her. “If you’ll give me a hit off your breath mask, we can get the fuck out of Dodge.”

  “Give her to me,” the older man insisted. “You can’t carry her in that shape.”

  “I’ve got her,” Kevin insisted, moving to step around the Chief. If the bastard wasn’t going to help, he could get the fuck out of the way.

  “Dammit, boy.” The Chief’s words were distorted by his mask and the roar of the fire, so the blow to the backs of his knees took him by surprise.

  He twisted, trying to spare Joanna the impact. He had a vague moment of terror when he realized that even this violent jostling hadn’t woken her from her smoke induced stupor. Then he focused all his attention on Chief Caldwell.

  The man who’d been like a father to him was almost unrecognizable. His open, affable face was twisted with rage and some sort of sick regret. His hazel eyes were wild and mad.

  Caldwell had grabbed Joanna, dragging at the hem of her ragged jeans, trying to pull her out of Kevin’s grasp.

  “You have to leave her here, son,” the man was muttering. “Can’t let her finish the mural. Can’t let her tell.” He looked up at Kevin with a stomach churning expression of regret and affection. “You’ll be fine without her, boy. We’ll all be fine. We just have to leave her here.”

  Kevin tightened his grip on Joanna’s limp form, his horror growing. Chief Caldwell, a man he trusted with his life, a man who’d saved his life, wanted to give Joanna to the Hell monster.

  “No,” he rasped, then louder, “No,” when the older man didn’t let her loose. He was weak, dizzy from the smoke, but he was determined. He would not lose someone else he loved to the monster. He would not live out his life without Joanna. He. Would. Not.

  Kicking out with one booted foot, he caught Caldwell in the chest, sending the other man tumbling back into the smoke filled apartment. Kevin struggled to his feet, swinging Jo back over his shoulde
r and charging down the stairs.

  The fire had grown, devouring the entire first level of the building by the time he’d cleared the stairwell. Draping the damp towel over Joanna’s face and hair, he ducked his head and made a run for it, dodging falling embers and gusts of flame as the wind from the heat exploded windows sent shifting currents through the space.

  “Kevin, no!” Caldwell’s voice rose above the roar of the fire as Kevin closed in on the open door, the waiting rescue workers. He caught sight of Jimmy and Earl, fighting the hose as they directed the sharp flow of water through the open windows. Travis was hooking a second hose into a hydrant half a block down.

  “Kevin!” The Chief started down the stairs, and was that a fucking gun in his hand?

  “Shit!” Kevin started to turn, to block Jo’s body with his own, when the world fell into slow motion.

  With a tremendous groan of agony, the stairs fell away beneath the Chief. Showers of sparks shot up around the collapsing wood, and Caldwell seemed to float through them as he tumbled toward the ground some twenty feet beneath him.

  “Oh, Christ.” The words were a curse, a prayer, as the man who’d been like a father to him for nearly twenty years was buried under heaps of burning timber.

  Kevin dove through the door, laying Joanna gently on a tarp one of the rescue workers had spread on the ground. He stroked her cheek and, miraculously, her eyes fluttered opened.

  “The Chief.” Her words were soundless. The smoke had stolen her voice.

  “I know, baby,” he choked back. “He’s inside.” He tipped his head toward the burning building.

  “Go get him,” she mouthed, and her generosity floored him.

  Bending to press a quick, hard kiss to her pale lips, he shrugged off the EMT trying to slap an oxygen mask on his face and ran to the truck. Once there he snatched up a breathing apparatus and an ax and headed back inside fire’s red Hell.